


To the Stars & Home Again

by EmperorNorton150



Series: The New Era [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: (mostly), Canon Compliant, Catra should be in charge of stuff, Exposition, F/F, Lesbians in Space, POV Catra (She-Ra), Politics, Post-Canon, Space Battles, Space Opera, and aesthetics, honestly barely has a plot, just like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmperorNorton150/pseuds/EmperorNorton150
Summary: It's been a decade since the fall of Horde Prime's Empire, and Galactic Civilization is struggling to reassert itself after countless millennia of tyranny. General Catra of the Royal Bright Moon Navy, along with her wife (She-Ra, Protector of Etheria, Savior of the Universe, etc. You've heard of her) are working hard to maintain peace and order among the stars. Maybe a little too hard.(Or, I indulge my desire to see She-Ra go full space opera)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Glimmer (She-Ra)
Series: The New Era [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934074
Comments: 19
Kudos: 101





	To the Stars & Home Again

_MONDOR STAR SYSTEM, 16.09.10 N.E._

She-Ra—the Champion of the Spirit of the Stars, the Savior of the Universe, the Protector of Etheria, she who had destroyed Horde Prime and ended an inter-galactic tyranny older than most recorded histories—is running. She put all of her strength, all of her magical energy into speed, her legs pumping as she races down through the towering darkness of the disused maintenance shaft, damp, musty walls curving high above her. The only light is from her own aura, and from the spotlights of the two Horde Dreadnaughts chasing her. Overhead, a voice is booming through the announcement speakers, but she tunes it out. The dreadnoughts footfalls are getting louder, their servo-electric motors matching her magic-given strength, and she can hear the murmur of hundreds of bots in the distance, tramping after them. She slaps her communicator _again_.

“Catra? Catra, where the _hell_ are you?” This time, it crackles to life.

“Heyyy Adora” a voice purrs in her ear, and even now she can’t help but smile.

“Nice to hear you too, but could I get a little _help_ here? I’ve been calling for ten minutes now!”

“What? I didn’t— _shit_. Sorry. There must have been interference from the reactor core. Negotiations not going well?”

“You could say that.” One of the dreadnoughts gets close enough to fire its arm cannon, sending a stream of high-explosive shells hammering after her. She leaps into the air, sending a burst of energy into the volley, detonating half of them in midair. By the time the remainder impact the concrete floor and explode, she’s another dozen meters down the tunnel and still running. “He wasn’t in the mood to talk and I wasn’t in the mood to fight a planet. I need extraction. Now please!”

“Understood” Catra’s voice is cool and crisp now. “We’ve got your position dialed in, and are moving in for a pickup now. Be there in” there’s a pause, and the sound of claws clattering over a keypad. “Five minutes. Just hold tight, ok babe?”

“Got it. Love you!” she gasps the words, because even her strength is starting to be strained by now.

“Love you too!” The communicator clicks off, and She-Ra puts her head down and _runs_.

Thirty million kilometers away from the planet, Catra swivels her command chair and looks at the captain, who’s sitting just a few meters away from her, where he can receive orders and pass on information to the flag officer while still having the space to command his ship. Around them, stretching to both ends of the gleaming, horseshoe-shaped bridge, other officers are already preparing their stations for action. It gives Catra a spark of pride, deep in her chest, to see her people operating like a well-oiled machine. She’d built this navy from the ground up, and it was a _damn_ good one. 

“Looks like my wife’s gonna need a little help after all. You have the coordinates?” The captain, a Thaymorian satyr, nods, scratching one of his horns.

“Then let’s go.” She flips up a small plastic cover on the arm of her command chair and gently taps the red button underneath.

Deep in the darkness of space, engines flare to life like miniature suns, as the ships of the Royal Bright Moon Navy Task Force 12 come alive. All along the flanks of the assault carrier HMS _Gabriella_ , long and lean and shark-like, and the two Darla-class interceptors HMS _Jennifer_ and HMS _Anna Sofia_ , lights spring out, beacons shining in the night. Engines glow a deep purple-blue as free-electron lasers stab into thulite crystals, unleashing a flood of energy. Inside the ships, the melodious voices of the computers are warbling.

“ _General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your stations_ ” sending crewfolk scrambling to their assigned posts. Laser turrets and shield generators spin online, airtight shutters slam shut over recreation facilities and dining halls, torpedoes slide into their tubes, armor panels lock into place around reactors and other vital functions. Sailors tumble into their stations, manning consoles and control panels, or strapping on armor and weapons to repel borders, or crawling into maintenance shafts, clutching repair kits. They’d been at Condition One for fifteen hours now, so this came as no surprise. For officers and crew who’d been on tether hooks, awaiting disaster, it was almost a relief. Always better to get the fight over with than have to wait for it, the grizzled veterans of the Horde Wars assure their bright-eyed, naïve comrades. Soonest begun, soonest done and all that. Now the waiting is over, and the ships are hurtling through space, towards battle.

Catra is doing a very good job of concealing her impatience, of presenting the face of absolute calm and assurance that a commander has to show her subordinates. Mostly. Her tail is swishing back and forth, and her claws drum a tattoo onto the arm of her chair. Her eyes flick to the timecode on her console. Three minutes now.

“Has the enemy responded to our movement yet?” asks the captain. The sensor officer shakes her head.

“No sign that they’ve seen us sir.” The captain snorts.

“Sloppy. _We_ would have by now”.

“They’re clones” Catra reminds him, leaning down to scratch Melog on the chin. He whines, and curls back up around the base of her chair. “Ten years on, and they’re still having trouble coordinating without Prime.” She sighed silently. Most of Prime’s Clones had totally fallen apart after their creator had been obliterated. Some had gone totally catatonic, some had gone wild, most of had just…...sat there, waiting for orders that never came. Wrong Hordak had taken responsibility for them, teaching them to think for themselves, to work for a living, to operate independently as ordinary people. It was slow, hard work, but it had been successful. Mostly. There had been millions of Horde clones scattered across the universe. Only a few had retained the desire for conquest and the ability to function even semi-competently, but on that scale, it was more than enough to cause trouble. Every year or two some group of them would pop up somewhere, raise their banners, and declare war on Galactic Society. Usually they could be dealt with without undue difficulty, but _this_ time they’d managed to grab a dozen planets and reactivate a few of Prime’s automated manufactories before anyone had realized what was going on. And then shipping started to get attacked and nearby star systems were screaming for help and of course Adora had insisted on trying to tackle it alone. (“ _A military presence will just exacerbate the situation Catra. Maybe I can talk down this Primus Secundus guy myself if I go just as She-Ra. You know, a show of good faith!” “You do know you’re the girl who murdered his God, right? How do you think this is gonna go?” “Catra, it’ll be fine! You worry too much!”)_ “Why did I marry such an idiot?” she mutters under her breath. Melog chuffs a quiet laugh. All of a sudden, an alarm is pinging insistently.

“We’re being painted by targeting lasers!” snaps the tactical officer. “They’ve got us on scope!” Catra hisses, and makes a sharp gesture, bringing up the holotank with a display of the system. A wireframe map of the planet Mondor springs into view, surrounding by glowing markers of space stations, defensive satellites, circling drones and warships, each surrounding by little speed and distance notations. They’re flashing red as sensor arrays spot the incoming Bright Moon ships and begin trying to lock them into their computers. Another motion with her claws and her senior officers are brought into a conference call with her.

“Alright, here’s the plan. We’ll blast a hole in their defensive perimeter _here_ ” she circles a spot, highlighting the weapons installations that need to be taken out, “and bring _Gabby_ into low orbit at these coordinates. _Jennifer_ and _Anna Sofia_ will provide covering fire” her hands trace a spiraling pattern of trajectories through the planet’s thermosphere. “Kill anything that tries to kill us. Once we’ve got Adora onboard, we _run_. No heroics. No fight to the death. Just grab-and-go. Understood?”

“Aye General!” rumbles the chorus. Catra smiles, and flexes her claws, rolls her muscles to get any kinks out. Whether the battle was being fought face-to-face or from twenty thousand kilometers away, her instincts were the same. She was ready.

She-Ra sees it coming, or maybe feels it, or senses it—she isn’t sure what word is most appropriate. But she knows the tunnel wall is going to explode seconds before it does, and is already flinging herself to the side when the blast rips a hole through the wall and a third dreadnought stomps through. Fifteen meters tall and covered in glossy white and silver armor, the machine swivels its head and sweeps the corridor with laser fire from the pods nestled under its chin. She-Ra gets her shield up just in time, but the impact of the energy fire still knocks her back on her feet. From above, a voice is still raving from the speakers

“THE HORDE SHALL RISE AGAIN! THE HORDE SHALL RISE STRONGER! I AM PRIME THE SECOND, PRIME THE INVINCIBLE, PRIME THE UNSTOPABLE, PRIME THE—”

“Oh, _shut up!_ ” snaps She-Ra, finally sick of it. Her shield shifts back into a sword and she fires a blast of golden fire into the ceiling, frying the electronics. Then she ducks to the side as the dreadnought brings around a sword as long as she was tall and slams it into the ground where she’d been standing. It swings its weapon sideways, trying to catch her with the flat of the blade, but she leaps over it and dives between its legs, slashing through one of the ankles as she goes. The mech crumples to the ground with a scream of grinding metal and ceramic, and she rams her sword through its chest, killing its central processing unit with a flash of burning circuitry. But the other two dreadnoughts are almost on top of her now, and she swings her sword back up just in time to deflect a flurry of laser-fire from the first. The second fires a shoulder-mounted railgun. She manages to dodge the magnetically-accelerated projectiles, but the shockwave from their impact into the wall still sends her flying. She rises, coughing from the cloud of dust, and rolls immediately, just in time to dodge another blast of energy fire.

“Catra!” she shouts into her communicator. “I could _really_ use some help about now!”

Like falcons stooping on their prey, the Bright Moon warships fall into orbit. Strapped into amplification chambers deep within _Gabriella’_ s hull, sorcerers draw their runic sigils and _pulse_ magic through them. A dozen defensive satellites are gone in an instant, vanished into balls of rippling fire or disintegrated to dust or transformed into clouds of feathers and leaves. Others rip open portals, swallowing missiles and projectiles before they can impact the assault cruiser, or summon false images of the Bright Moon ships, dozens of them diving through space above the fortress-planet. All along the assault carrier’s flanks laser turrets spit beams of coherent light and missile batteries disgorge their payloads, shattering the spindly backs of two Horde escort destroyers in an orgy of explosions and knocking out the starboard shield generator on one of the main orbital control stations. The clone crew try and rotate the exposed side out of danger but they’re too slow to react, and their equipment is too old, wartime surplus a decade out of date. The station breaks apart as another volley of missiles blows apart its central core, the individual modules drifting out of alignment with each other. Space is awash with electromagnetic radiation, degrading the sensors of the Horde drones and bots that are now swarming out of the planet’s atmosphere.

The _Gabriella_ drops lower and begins firing maneuvering thrusters, struggling to maintain a geosynchronous orbit while they try and maintain a signal lock on She-Ra. Meanwhile, the _Jennifer_ and the _Anna Sofia_ whip through space in a complicated dance, twirling and whirling through flocks of drones, blasting them apart with bursts of laser fire. A trio of gunships scream in and bracket the _Jennifer_ , trying to heard her into their sights. Two hits blow apart one of her nacelles, taking out her port blaster cannon and opening up one of her fuel cells to space, and a plume of oxygen fire blooms out the side of the ship. The Horde ships close in for the kill, but _Anna Sofia_ sweeps in from behind them. A sorcerer reaches out and _pushes_ , and one of the gunships slams into another, crippling them both. The two interceptors circle around and destroy the last gunship in a volley of laser fire, and then pirouette away in search of more victims.

Catra had long ago learned that one of the cardinal rules of warfare was letting your subordinates do their jobs without jogging their elbows. So, she sits silently, letting her captains fight their ships, letting the cacophony of battle wash over her.

“Shields are down to 60% captain!”

“Target that platform with batteries A, D, and H. Fire when ready!”

“Port sensor array’s been burned out sir!”

“Missiles coming in off from below! Take them out!” Point-defense turrets fire, and three of the four missiles explode just short of the _Gabriella_. The last one slips through a gap in the shields and slams into the assault carrier’s underside. The bridge shakes with the impact. A minute later the operations officer reports

“Damage is minimal sir! We’ve lost two point-defense turrets and the lower cargo bay’s been breached, but no vital functions are impaired. Repair teams are moving in now.” A flight of drones buzzes their superstructure, weaving in and out of the defensive fire, laser-fire melting into the assault carrier’s ablative armor, and more status lights blink from green to orange on her console. A Horde cruiser is rising from the lower atmosphere, but a torpedo rams into its reactor core and detonates, turning the entire ship into a sphere of blue fire. What was taking so long? Catra seethes silently. Melog makes a _mrrrowing_ sound and pats her leg soothingly. She nods, and takes a deep breath. Everything is going to be—

“Got her!” shouts the operations officer, holding a hand to his earbud. “She’s in Teleport 2, safe and sound.” Simultaneously the sensor officer yells

“Sir! New contact, bearing mark-nine-seven-two, fifty thousand klicks!”

“Excellent work Lieutenant” she says and “I see them.” A dozen Horde battleships, clawing their way around the curve of the horizon. More than they can handle. “Captain? Get us the _fuck_ out of here”. He brays a laugh.

“With pleasure general.” The Bright Moon ships pivot and break orbit, diving for deep space, shooting out a volley of decoys and mines to cover their retreat. Electronic hash shreds every sensor net within a hundred thousand kilometers, and the sorcerers do their part, scattering their simulacrums in every direction of the compass. Only a few drones are able to find their trail, and quick bursts of laser fire burn them out of space. A thought strikes Catra.

“Captain, do we have coordinates for the enemy command center?” He frowns, and taps something into his console.

“Yes? But there’s so much shielding we would have very little chance of making a successful strike”. Catra’s ears flick, and she bares her fangs.

“Salvo some torpedoes anyways. As a token of my regard.”

* * *

_MONDOR STAR SYSTEM, 16.09.10 N.E._

Catra is a very good commander who takes her responsibilities seriously, which is why she waits until they’d fully broken away from Mondor, confirmed that there was no pursuit, and collated and summarized all damage and casualty reports before she leaves the bridge. She finds Adora still in the Teleport chamber, wiping the sweat from her face with a towel. She jumps to her feet when the door slides open, beaming that dumb, guileless smile that Catra _still_ sometimes can’t believe is for her, and gives an ironic salute.

“Checking in on the troops general?” Catra doesn’t say anything, she just crosses the space between them and kisses Adora, wrapping her arms and tail around her and purring. They stand there for a long moment.

“Hey” says Adora softly, brushing Catra’s cheek. “You know I wasn’t in any danger, right? I mean, like, one planet of clones and robots versus one She-Ra? That’s, like, a fair fight. Maybe even a little too easy.”

“I know. I just wanted an excuse to do this.” 

“You don’t need an excuse to kiss your wife Catra!” she says, but she’s laughing. Catra just headbutts her gently and _buzzes_ into her neck, swishing her tail back and forth. After a minute she finally says

“Thank you for running away.” Catra can feel Adora’s arms tighten around her back.

“I may be dumb but I’m not a total idiot you know. I’m not actually try and gonna fight a whole planet. It’s been, uhh, _several years_ since I tried to do that.” Catra looks up and smirks.

“You are actually. But you’re my idiot, so it’s ok.” Adora kisses her again so she knows she’s right.

It’s only when they’re walking back to their quarters a few minutes later that Catra brings the conversation back to business.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? Or wait until the debriefing?” Adora makes an adorable pouty face and sighs.

“There’s really not much to tell? Y’know, maybe I would have been more impressed if I hadn’t _banished Horde Prime himself_ from the universe but it was just ‘I am unstoppable, I am the Second Coming of Prime, you will cower before me’ blah blah blah ‘destroy all the rebellious planets’ blah blah blah ‘bring you back into the light of Prime’. I mean, once you’ve been threatened by experts hearing it from amateurs is just kinda sad.”

“Do you think we’ll have to crush him?”

“Yeah” Adora sounds sad. Catra isn’t exactly thrilled about it either—a general she might be, and commander of the Royal Bright Moon Navy, but she’d learned by the time she was eighteen that war was just a mechanism for taking people and grinding up their bodies and souls. She was good at it, and sometimes it was needful, but she didn’t have to like it. Adora squeezes her hand silently, and she returns it to tell her wife that she’s OK. They walk in silence for a few moments, down the silver corridor, lines of blue and gold tracery decorating the walls, potted plants located in alcoves every few meters. Catra can’t help scowling at a particularly obnoxious orchid. _Flowers on a ship of war!_ It still felt decadent, and only the fact that they were part of the ship’s atmospheric control system had grudgingly reconciled her to them. Very grudgingly.

“Um” Adora says very quietly. “How many people died. Getting me out of there, I mean.”

“Eight. Six on the _Jennifer_ and two on _Gabby_. Fifteen wounded.”

“ _Fuck_ ”

“Hey!” Catra spins her partner around to face her, grabbing her shoulders. “Adora, look at me. You can’t possibly think this is your fault.” Adora won’t quite meet her eyes.

“You were right. I didn’t—there wasn’t any chance of talking peacefully to those people, and I shouldn’t have tried.”

“And do you think the casualties would have been _less_ if we’d just assaulted the planet?”

“Welllllll…..”

“Besides, I was their commanding officer. You’re just some tagalong civilian. Pretty sure the responsibility is mine.”

“I am not—! Catra love, I am _the She-Ra_ , legendary protector of Etheria and the friggin’ galaxy! I am not ‘some tagalong civilian’. That is _ridiculous_. You are being _absurd_.” Catra smirks and flicks Adora with her tail.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself babe.” Adora snorts.

“It’s just—it never gets any easier.”

“Good. It shouldn’t. But that still doesn’t make it your fault.”

* * *

_MARITHA STAR SYSTEM, 23.03.01 N.E._

Catra remembers the first time She-Ra had restored magic to a planet.

She had felt like shit. Which was unusual for her, which was itself unusual. Catra’s life, from the earliest she could remember, had been unusually shitty, even for an orphan being raised as a child-soldier by the Horde. But in the three months since the destruction of Horde Prime and the Heart of Etheria she had felt……...good? Mostly. Sometimes. Not always. But better than she ever had before. But ever since they’d finally embarked on their mission back to space, she’d been feeling disquieted. Part of it was just that she’d gotten used to Bright Moon. It had become familiar to Catra; Glimmer’s aunt and father who were so kind to her that it made her cry with confusion some days, the kitchen staff who would always slip her extra snacks when she came down at night, the weekly visits from Perfuma who was teaching her about taking command of her own restless and battered mind, the gardens where she could sleep in the sun for hours if she wanted. Being on _Darla_ again with just Adora and Bow and Glimmer and Entrapta brought back too many memories of the time right after she’d been rescued from Prime, when she’d been barely been able to sit in the same room as the others or talk to Adora without having a nervous breakdown. It made her bones itch. And she was having the nightmares again. So. She felt kind of shitty.

Also, the planet was a shithole. Sorry. But it was true. Maritha was cold, wet, and foggy, with only a few small continents and thousands of scattered archipelagos. It rained constantly. It was raining now, as they gathered a few kilometers outside what was left of the capitol city to perform the ceremony, Adora standing uncertainly on the beach looking out over the lapping waves of the ocean, the rest of the Best Friend Squad gathered with a dozen sullen Marithan politicians nearby, most of whom were busy glaring at each other. Maritha had had a rough go of it lately. The fight to drive Prime’s forces off the planet had been bloody and lengthy, and had left most of their major cities in ruins. There were actually three main groups who had participated in the revolution, the United Marithan Democratic League, the Marithan Liberation Front, and the People’s Army for a Free Maritha. They (of course) hated each other, and the shaky coalition provisional government had already almost fallen several times. And ( _of fucking course_ ) it had fallen to Catra to do most of the negotiating with them. Never in her life had she been offered so many bribes to do so many things. If she wanted to take over the planet, she could’ve done it in six weeks, easy. Which she did _not_ want to do. Because it was a shithole. But they’d been the first planet to request She-Ra’s presence to “bless their world” and so here they were. In the rain. The stupid, shitty rain. On this stupid, shitty planet.

“Uhhh, so I guess I’m gonna do this thing now? Is that ok?” Adora had asked. The Deputy Premier of the Provisional Government (well, _one_ of them, there were at least seven) said coldly

“That would be ideal, yes.”

“Ok then! Uhhhh, For the Honor of Grayskull!” There was a flash of light and Adora transformed and the politicians all looked politely impressed. Catra had seen it before. She’d rather have Adora curled up with her in their bed at Bright Moon. She-Ra walked to the water’s brim, then waded in a little way. She looked around, and Catra could see how terrified and confused she was, even if she was hiding it beneath her warrior goddess bullshit façade. Then she plunged her sword into the water and said something in a language Catra couldn’t understand but it _hurt_ to hear somehow and—

—nothing changed and everything changed. The sky looked brighter, bluer, somehow. The grass is greener. The clouds are whiter. There’s no difference she could point to, but the world seems to have shifted irrevocably. It’s still raining, but Catra didn’t mind as much, and the air smells _so good_. Bow and Glimmer were jumping up and down and shrieking, and the Deputy Premier and the Undersecretary of Finance (who had each separately tried to bribe Catra to implicate the other in an embezzlement scam just three days ago) were holding on to each other and sobbing. Several other delegates had fallen down, and were just sitting on the grass with dumbfounded looks on their faces. Usually Catra would have laughed but she suspected she looked the same way. Then Adora was there, scooping her up into a hug and they were both crying and laughing and—

—maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad. 

* * *

_STAR SYSTEM ESMP-01476, 16.09.10 N.E._

It took Task Force 12 eight hours of travel at flank speed to reach their homeport at Wind Shadow Base. It was in a dead system, burned lifeless by Horde Prime countless centuries ago, but it retained its strategic position, lying close to two dozen important planetary systems and at the intersection of three trade routes. Wind Shadow had been one of the Etherian bases established as part of their peacekeeping efforts after the Heart of Etheria. Those early years after Prime’s death had been wild—wonderful, exhilarant, jubilant, but also chaotic and terrifying. The government that had ruled most of the known universe for ten thousand years had fallen overnight, and nobody really knew what was going to happen next. Hundreds of planets had collapsed into anarchy, dozens had embarked on their own campaigns of attempted conquest, piracy and brigandry had surged everywhere, old grudges, lying long dormant beneath Prime’s iron control, burst into flame again. Etheria was one of the few planets in (relatively) good shape, and its rulers had sought to help bring peace and prosperity back to the galaxy. Hence—the outposts. Small freeports, established wherever possible, that helped knit together the ripped warp and weft of society. They were trading ports, diplomatic entrepots, cultural and technological exchange points, safe harbors, military bases, and more, and for the first few years of the New Era, they had provided some of the few guaranteed places of security and safety in this region of space. Things were more peaceful now. From the ashes of Prime had burst ten thousand flowering seeds, societies and communities and governments eager to reassert their freedom after uncountable years of tyranny. Etheria was no longer the _only_ stable government in the universe. But the Etherian outposts were still a vital part of the web of connections holding together Galactic Civilization. 

Wind Shadow was a typical example of one of these bases, a hollowed-out asteroid glittering with lights, surrounded by a shimmering constellation of satellites and fueling platforms and sensor arrays. One hemisphere of the misshaped rock had been scooped away and replaced by a crystal dome, beneath which glowed the lush green of the forest atrium that had become typical of Etherian spaceborne architecture. Two more Darla-class interceptors, the HMS _Marlena_ and the HMS _Cassandra_ , traced lazy circles around the base, keeping a wary eye on the Thallaxican freighter towing a long string of barges in to dock, and the Salinean yacht doing barrel rolls through the nearby asteroid belt. Exchanging electronic handshakes with Wind Shadow Command & Control, the three battered Bright Moon warships slid gently into one of the yawning airlocks, locking themselves onto magnetic rails that carried them into their docking bays. 

Adora and Catra stride out onto the station’s main concourse by themselves, carrying their own luggage, accompanied only by Melog, who’s nipping at their heels. Neither had ever gotten used to having servants, and they travel light.

“—I can call in HMS _Emily_ and HMS _Helen_ , and Commodore Bartok’s squadron as reinforcements, but that’s about it.” Catra was saying. Adora sighed

“That’s not…...exactly a lot.”

“I know, I know, but we’re already stretched so thin, and there are some ships I can’t pull off assignment. We’re a peacekeeping force, remember? Not really optimized to fight a real war.”

“At least you’ll have me, that’s _something_.” The concourse is as busy as ever, and even now Catra finds her tail bristling. She’s never been comfortable with this many people, this much noise. Crewfolk and officers from her warships disembarking, businessmen and tourists and diplomats from every nation on Etheria and a score of other planets, buying and selling at the kiosks that line the far walls or tapping away at information consoles or waiting patiently for their shuttle to leave. A group of clones is raising money for the Horde Clone Rehabilitation Project, two or three musicians are entertaining the crowd, a phalanx of Royal Guards in Bright Moons colors are camped out in a private booth on the upper level, where they can watch the whole crowd—wait, _what?_ Catra’s eyes spin back in confusion, when a high-pitched voice cuts through the background nose.

“Adora! Catra!” A tiny pink-haired woman is leaning over the railing, waving down at them. Catra barely has time to react when she’s vanished in a flurry of light, reappeared virtually on top them, and has grabbed both of them and pulled them into an embrace.

"Hey cut it out sparkles, you’re undermining my authority” Catra says, but she’s hugging back just as hard. Finally, when they’re done laughing and squealing (The others that is. Not Catra. Catra doesn’t squeal) Adora asks

“Glimmer, it’s great to see you again, but what are you _doing_ all the way out here?” The Queen of Bright Moon and Princess-Protector of Etheria’s face grows tight, and Catra feels a chill settle down in her belly. Of course, Glimmer wouldn’t be here, two thousand light years from home, unless something _really bad_ was going down.

“Can we talk about it in private?” she says, and Catra nods.

“Of course. Let’s go to my office.”

It’s a quick ride by turbolift to the private office that Catra had taken over when she’d arrived at Wind Shadow a month ago to take command of local operations. It somehow doesn’t surprise her when Glimmer walks in and sits down behind Catra’s desk, pushing aside the piles of paperwork and tracker pads. Spirits of the Stars know Catra loves Glimmer like a sister but she was still the _bossiest_ person she’s ever met. And her actual boss, so fair. Still annoying though. Adora and her wife settle down into a pair of chairs in front of the desk. Adora speaks first

“What’s happened? Is it an emergency? Do you need us back at Etheria?” her mind had obviously gone to the same place as Catra’s. Glimmer glares at them, and bunches her hands into fists.

“Three. Weeks.” she snaps, and Adora and Catra look at each other in confusion.

“Sorry, what?”

“You left. On a three-week trip. _Eight fucking months ago!_ ” Catra had forgotten that Glimmer was could also get angrier than anyone else she’d ever known who wasn’t, like, a literal fucking supervillain. “’Bye Glimmer! There’re a few planets up near Andromeda who want some magic so I’ll just pop up there and see about that, maybe stop in and visit the Star Siblings on my way back’” Glimmer somehow manages to shout in a singsong voice. “’I’ll go with her Glimmer! I need to go talk to the Kingdom of Xen’s Admiralty about their plans for a naval rearmament anyways, and it’s right on the way. It’ll be like a little vacation! _We’ll be back in three fucking weeks!’_ ” Adora and Catra exchange embarrassed looks.

“Well” begins Adora, “That was the _plan_ but then this Space Dragon started causing trouble on Traxis and I got asked to go help deal with that.”

“And then there were those pirates on the Meridian Way who attacked our convoy and I needed to organize a response” puts in Catra.

“Then the peace treaty on Jansar XI fell apart and we got dragged in as mediators”

“Our embassy on Antares got bombed and as long as we were in the neighborhood, I thought we should at least _try_ and help out the investigation”

“And now this—did you read our report? There’s another Horde warlord wannabee but this one’s put together a pretty scary base of operations”

“And—”

“Both of you. Shut up.” Glimmer is speaking at a normal volume now, but it’s her _I-Am-The-Queen_ voice. They shut up. She rubs her forehead and gives them a disturbingly maternal look, her face framed by the starscape they can see through the viewport behind her head. “You two are such bad influences on one another, you know that? You!” Her finger jabs at Adora

“You don’t need to save the universe every month! Once was quite enough, thank you very much. You are allowed to have a life! I _know_ you know this because I have heard your _fucking wife_ tell you this, like, a thousand times except that _she_ ” Glimmer’s finger pivots towards Catra as implacably as the turret of a battleship “is still half-convinced that if she doesn’t work herself to the bone everyday someone’s going to come along and throw her in a dungeon or exile her to Beast Island or whatever. You don’t need to justify your existence to me!” There’s silence for a few moments, before Adora exhales loudly.

“Ok. I guess......I guess you have a point. As soon as we take care of Primus Secundus we’ll head—”

“No.” Catra scowls.

“Look sparkles, I get it, but we can’t just leave this asshole alone until he gets confident enough to start attacking other systems. He’s already powerful enough as it is!”

“We’re not going to“ says Glimmer unperturbedly. “I have been discussing the issue with the President of the Republic of Polaris and the Grand Council of the Stellar League for the last two days, and they’ve agreed to take point on this. Both of them are sending battle fleets.” Catra opens her mouth but Glimmer plows right over her “And _yes_ , Catra, we will be contributing forces. I’ve committed Task Forces 12 and 7 to this operation. But Commodore Bartok is _more_ than capable of commanding this deployment. You are the commanding general of the Bright Moon armed forces, Royal Councilor of the Kingdom, and Military Advisor to the Etherian Governing Council. You do _not_ need to be personally supervising this. Neither of you do. Come. Home. Please?” Adora reaches across the table and clasps one of her old friends’ hands.

“Did the Queen of Bright Moon really come all the way out here just to drag home some strays?” she asks with a small smile. Glimmer returns it.

“No. Glimmer, who also _happens_ to be Queen of Bright Moon, came all the way out here to drag home some very stubborn friends of hers. I know you’re going to have to go back out again. I know that comes with the sword. And the rank tabs” she adds with a nod at Catra. “But I miss you. Bow misses you. We all do. And we need you at home just as much as we need you out on the frontier. To help keep us all sane if nothing else.”

“Oh, all right. But just cause it’s you who’s asking sparkles.”

* * *

_INTERSTELLAR DEEP SPACE, 17.09.10 N.E._

The _Queen Angella_ was a top-of-the-line luxury yacht, gifted to the monarchy of Bright Moon just this year by the Marithan Planetary Republic in recognition of the ten-year anniversary of the Restoration. Equipped with every conceivable extravagance and four quad-core thulite reactors, it was capable of traversing twenty light-years per hour. But it was still a four-day trip back to Etheria. The three of them initially tried to put their time to productive use, but kept distracting each other until Glimmer finally invoked royal prerogatives and declared a holiday. Which went well after they finally confiscated Catra’s tracker pad when she wouldn’t stop checking for updates on the fleet movements.

“I will _tell you_ if there’s an emergency!” Glimmer had decreed, while her minions requisitioned her equipment. “Now relax! That’s an order, general!” Catra had lashed her tail and grumbled about responsibilities of command and oversight authority and tyrannical, overweening monarchs until Adora had finally pulled her down into the pile of cushions she’d assembled into a makeshift throne of the floor of Glimmer’s cabin

“Yeah, _relax_ Catra” she giggles, tickling her wife until Catra laughs and kisses her to make her stop. Glimmer, sitting in an armchair, rolls her eyes.

“You guys are acting like a couple of teenagers, you know that, right? It’s disgusting.” Adora sticks out her tongue at her liege-lady, and Glimmer smacks her in the face with a pillow.

“So princess, how’s everything going back home? I’ve followed the news bulletins, but it’s not the same” asks Catra when everyone has calmed down enough to permit conversation again.

“Pretty good. No emergencies, or at least none by our standards. Trade deals and border disputes, that sort of thing. The Etherian Governing Council has been debating whether to institute a planet-wide graduated income tax or to just levy another round of tariffs for the last _month_.”

“That sounds……fun?” ventures Adora.

“Gahhhhhhhhhh. It’s awful. I think we’re gonna go with the income tax because Spinnerella supports it and I’m pretty sure she’s the only one besides me actually reading all the briefing papers. Frosta has just straight-up skipped the last three council sessions. Oh, and my dad’s retired again.”

“Do you think it’ll stick this time?” Glimmer shrugs.

“I hope so? He’s not as young as he thinks he is, and I’m worried about him. He keeps trying to do too much. But you know how stubborn he gets.”

“Remind you of anyone?” teases Adora. Glimmer tosses another pillow at her.

“No. It does not. Aunt Casta sends her love to both of you, by the way. And Catra? She wanted you to know how much she likes that sweater you sent her for Wintertide. She says it’s the comfiest thing she’s worn in years.” Catra flicks her ears modestly, but _buzzes_ happily. Adora tousles her hair with a smile. Learning to knit with Castaspella in the weeks after the Battle of Etheria was still one of Catra’s fondest memories. It had been one of the first things she’d decided to do purely out of pleasure—not because she needed to or because it was expected or because she wanted to hurt someone, but just because she enjoyed it. It was still the best way she’d ever found to relax, even if she couldn’t get Adora interested. The one time she’d tried it she come close to strangling herself with the yarn. Glimmer leans back, warming to her theme.

“Let’s see, Netossa won the Inter-Galactic Net Tossing Competition again—I _still_ can’t believe that’s a real thing—so she’s currently insufferable, Sea Hawk managed to set fire to the yacht of the Ambassador from Eta Cassiopeia but it’s _ok_ , Mermista paid his bail and she says the evidence is all circumstantial anyways, Entrapta’s back on Krytis helping with the Resettlement Project, she says it’s going well, but I only understood, like, half of her actual message so take that for what it’s worth…” From across the room Melog gives a chirp of approval. Catra shoots a glower in his direction—not at her friend in particular, but at the three-dimensional water sculpture suspended in a lacework of artificial gravity that he was sprawled next to. _A waterfall on a spaceship!_ Decadence. Bah. It was a miracle these people had won the war. Melog opens his mouth in a silent laugh, and Catra shoots another glower at _him_ this time. Traitor. What did _he_ know about fighting a war? Glimmer was continuing her litany

“…I think Swift Wind’s bored without you Adora, he’s started threatening to launch the Equine Revolution again, Scorpia and Perfuma are having another baby, so you’ll need to pick up a naming day gift at some point, I _do not_ know how they find the time, if it wasn’t for Bow, and thank the Spirits of the Stars for him, Angie would have driven us both completely insane by now, and this is their fourth? And they’re _both_ reigning princesses?” Glimmer shudders. It strikes Catra then, like a subtle sense of vertigo, how _strange_ it still is sometimes, to care about so many people, and to have so many people care about her. It’s something she’ll never quite get used to, this sensation of glorious light-headed wonder, these golden moments where, for an instant, she can marvel at the fact that she _matters_ to people, and they matter to her, and that she’s part of the tapestry of so many different lives. Maybe other people take that for granted. Catra doesn’t. She never will.

She cries about it later that night, silently, but it wakes up Adora anyways.

“Hey” she says sleepily, “Hey love, you alright?”

“Yeah” Catra sniffles “I’m just happy, y’know?” Adora doesn’t, not really, but she doesn’t question it either. She just gathers Catra up in her arms and hugs her close until they both drift off to sleep again.

* * *

_ETHERIAN PLANETARY SYSTEM, 08.06.04 N.E._

Catra remembers the day she’d gotten her job.

“You’ve got to be shitting me sparkles” she’d snapped, still in shock. Glimmer had cocked her hip against the doorframe of Catra’s office and frowned.

“Why?” she’d asked. “You’ve basically been my chief military advisor for years now, so why not make it official?” They were back in Bright Moon after their third trip out through the galaxy, spreading magic and signing trade deals, and _sure_ , the queen wasn’t wrong that Catra had been mostly handling the military and defense side of things. They’d agreed at that conference on Tau Ceti that Etheria should form a navy, as part of the general push by the newly free star systems to police the spacelanes, prosecute piracy, and pacify warlords and rogue states, and Catra had assumed that she’d play a role in that, in fact when Glimmer had burst in she’d been working on a memo outlining specifications for new warships based on her conversations with some of Prime’s former shipwrights she’d tracked down in a bar on Orpha II. But this—!

“Anyways, who _else_ am I supposed to tap as commander of the navy? There’s not exactly a lot of experienced military commanders around here, it’s basically either you or Hordak and that’s where _I_ draw the line.” Catra had laughed at that.

“Fair enough. But…...don’t you think this’ll cause political problems for you? People aren’t gonna want to work with a former Horde Force Captain.”

“Catra, you’re going to space. Nobody up _there_ ” Glimmer stalked into the room and waved her hand vaguely at the ceiling” cares about what you did on Etheria. Fuck, most of them don’t know about it. _Your love saved the universe_. They are singing _ballads_ about you in the taverns of Polaris and Antares!” Catra’s tail bristled.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Bow and Sea Hawk are preforming a duet of one at the next festival. It’s called ‘The Kitten Who Loved A Princess’ and it has fifty-seven verses.” Catra had buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“I’ll kill them.”

“No, you won’t. Seriously Catra, what’s the problem here?” She could feel Glimmer looking at her curiously, but didn’t look up. After a long moment she finally said very quietly

“Do you really think it’s a good idea. To give me that much power again?” She felt Glimmer take one of her hands.

“Yes” said the ruler of Bright Moon, and Catra could feel the princess tracing the sharp edges of her claws with one of her fingers. “I’ve trusted you at my back for the last four years. I don’t see any reason to stop now.” Something prickled behind Catra’s eyes, and it felt like there was a pebble caught in her throat.

“OK” she finally said. “I’ll do it.” 

“Great!” Glimmer vanished in a flicker of light, and then reappeared before Catra could react, carrying a bundle of silver and purple fabric which she shoved into her arms. Catra unfolded it, staring at the star-shaped buttons, the half-moon insignias on the shoulders. The uniform _shimmered_ where the light hit it.

“Sparkles! I am _not_ wearing this shit!”

“But Caaatra, Aunt Casta designed it for me! You don’t want to hurt her feelings, do you?” Catra opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. A long pause.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too Horde scum.”

* * *

_ETHERIAN PLANETARY SYSTEM, 20.09.10. N.E._

Catra makes sure she’s on the bridge when the _Queen Angella_ arrives home. The sight of Etheria from space is something she never gets tired of, and she looms over the holotank, drinking it all in. Mystacor is far out today, orbiting the seventh moon, the city’s magical atmospheric shield coruscating in every color of the rainbow. Two shuttles are swooping in for a rendezvous, packed with acolytes from across the universe, come here to study sorcery with the only true experts. Light gleams from the lunar colonies of New Dryl and Colonia, Yudiah City and Laughing Swan, sprawling networks of domes and habitat modules and landing pads spreading out across the regolith. In close orbit of the planet itself is Etheria’s central space station, the hub of their entire extra-atmospheric industry and exploration: Horde Prime’s former flagship. A double-pointed spindle of steel and glass and the glimmering green of the ecosystem wrapped throughout _Homeport One_ ’s hull—in the holotank it just appears as a cluster of light codes, with tags of identifying information, but Catra can picture it perfectly. Early delegations of visitors and diplomats had been awestricken. The _Velvet Glove_ had been the locus of universal power for as long as anyone could remember. When it appeared in the skies over a world it was a harbinger of slavery at best, annihilation at worst. It was inscribed on the palimpsest of the galaxy’s collective memory in letters of blood and fire. And here these primitive Etherians who nobody had ever heard of before had hauled it home as a war prize. Those once sterile corridors are now filled with the laughter of children, the haggling and bartering of merchants and negotiators, the griping and cursing of mechanics and engineers, the whispers of lovers—to Catra’s mind, it is the most perfect revenge on Prime.

The Salineans had lofted a third space station since they’d left, she notices, another perfect aquamarine sphere of water enclosed in a crystal globe, flickering with the lights of habitats and homes deep within. They shine like gems amidst the glitter of satellites and stations enfolding Etheria. Traffic beacons outline orbital pathways, and there are dozens, maybe even scores of ships arriving and departing. Catra’s practiced eye picks out a few from the crowd—a pair of freighters from Vega refueling at an orbital platform, the sleek, organic lines of a Plumerian schooner breaking atmosphere, a former Horde troop carrier ( _Galactic Horde Raptor-class Assault Transport, Mark VII,_ part of her mind automatically notes _),_ long since converted to a starliner, maneuvering for an intercept with _Homeport One_ , a scientific exploration vessel registered to the Coraline Federal Republic doing a series of scans of the planet’s unique magnetic field, the Etherian merchant cruiser SS _Marianna_ picking up speed as it races out on the run to Polaris; all under the watchful gaze of the warships of Home Fleet. Floating in the lee of the second moon she can see the skeletal framework of the shipyards, where workers and bots construct freighters and passenger carriers and asteroid extraction ships. Even from here she can pick out the hull of the half-built battlecruiser HMS _Penelope_. A little growl of satisfaction escapes her as she sees the Naval Command Station, _Sword of Protection_ , rotate out from behind the planet’s shadow.

She’d helped build all this. She’d been there when some of the first extra-planetary trade deals had been signed, she’d helped to negotiate the alliances with Antares and the Centaurians, she’d sat at the side of Queen Glimmer during the Vanuatu and Tau Ceti Conferences, she’d built the Royal Bright Moon Navy from nothing into the premier policing and peacekeeping force it was today. That’s what redemption means to Catra. She’s never trusted words. Words could be lies, could be bullshit. She’d always known that most of what the Horde taught its children had no real relation to reality. You could only trust what was _real_. The warmth of Adora, curled up with her at night in bed—that was real. The black fire of Shadow Weaver’s magic, biting into her bones—that was real. It wasn’t enough to say sorry, or to feel guilty. Her claws had almost destroyed Etheria once. The least she could do was try and help build its future.

She rejoins the others for the descent, strapping themselves into acceleration couches as the yacht pivots in space and prepares for atmosphere entry. She has time to read a report from Commodore Bartok. The Multinational Force has won a battle at 72 Ophiuchi, smashing one of Primus Secundus’s fleets and seizing one of his forward operating bases. She’ll have to ensure that sufficient munitions and stores are sent forward, maybe peel off a few ships from Home Fleet as reinforcements—she catches Glimmer glaring at her, and puts away her tracker pad. Fine. Her _very capable_ _staff_ will ensure that.

The _Queen Angella_ screams down through the sky in a series of sonic booms, approaching the Etheria International Spaceport from above. It’s familiar territory to Catra—she can see the fuzzy outline of the Whispering Woods along the distant horizon, and below them is the rippling savannah grass of the former Fright Zone, now the Kingdom of Scorpions once again. Princess Scorpia had insisted that the Horde owed some kind of reparations to the rest of Etheria. Most of her peers had been more concerned with helping her rebuild her broken nation. The siting of the spaceport had been a compromise that pleased everyone; Scorpia had ceded the land, only ten kilometers outside Horror Hall and Scorpius City, to “the Etherian people, in their entirety, for all perpetuity”, and the economic spillover from the spaceport’s construction had helped the Kingdom immensely. One of those rare times life delivers a win-win situation. As the yacht circles in for a landing, she sees the statue of Mara towering over the landing pads, repair shops, and departure halls. A hundred meters tall and formed from granite, light gleams from the crystal sword she holds above her head. Catra can’t see it from here but she knows what’s written on the plinth: TO REBELLION: NOW & FOREVER. She’ll always have a soft spot for that colossus, if for no other reason than that the original proposal for a monument was a depiction of her and Adora’s embrace in the Heart of Etheria. She had not approved. ( _“I will do a mutiny sparkles, I swear to the fucking stars, I will stage a coup, stop laughing! I’m serious! I will overthrow your government and establish a dictatorship if you do this; would you please stop laughing?!”_ ) Then they were landing with a jolt and a _hisssss_ of compressed air being released, and then the four friends were disembarking into the cool breeze of an Etherian summer.

“Glimmer! You found them!” Of _course_ Bow had come down to meet them. The Prince Consort of Bright Moon is almost jumping up and down with excitement, waving. Adora rolls her eyes.

“We were not _lost_ Bow, we were just _busy_! We submitted weekly reports, we were in _constant_ communication—” Bow’s probably not listening because Glimmer had already teleported the six or seven meters between them and the couple was embracing like they’d been separated for months and not a week. Catra would’ve made a joke about the lovebirds but then a tiny five-year old girl with bright pink hair is barreling towards her.

“Aunt Catra!” she squeals, and Catra laughs and scoops her up, depositing her on her shoulders.

“Hey Angie! How’s my little cadet doing?”

“Oh, what am I, a stale ration bar?” grumbles Adora.

“I’m just cooler than you babe.”

“You’re a bad influence is what you are.” Adora says, sticking her nose up snootily. Angella giggles, and Adora leans over to give her niece a hug. Glimmer and Bow had finished their reunion by now and drifted back over to them, Bow sniffling as he hugs them both. Catra punches his arm.

“Hey arrow prince, nice to see you too.” Bow is talking, though Catra is having trouble hearing everything because Angella keeps grabbing her ears and chattering

“….Scorpia sends her best, she was going to try and meet you guys but she’s tied up in meetings with the Legislative Council all day, so I invited her to lunch at Bright Moon tomorrow…”

“…..daddy still won’t let me go into the woods but I climbed the tallest tree in the gardens _all by myself_ last week and I built a fort in my room and mom and dad aren’t allowed in it but you an’ Aunt Adora can visit me if you want….”

They’re walking into the terminal together now, Melog bounding around them in a loose circle. Catra catches Adora’s eye and for a moment they just grin at each other like total idiots.

Alright. It’s good to be home. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> \- This was written because I LOVED that She-Ra went into space in S5 but I couldn't help but think how great it would be if it just went all the way and became a straight-up space opera. 
> 
> \- Because I went put way too much thought into Etherian politics and now you have to know about it too: The fact that Bright Moon is ruled by a Queen and the other kingdoms by Princesses has always suggested a suzerain relationship between them to me. So my post-show headcanon is that all of the Etherian Kingdoms are sovereign states but that Bright Moon has suzerainty over them, which is why Glimmer has the titles "Queen of Bright Moon and Princess-Protector of Etheria", with the Etherian Governing Council being a sort of more powerful UN. 
> 
> \- The idea of Castaspella teaching Catra how to knit was totally stolen from [ Casting Out Shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611794/chapters/59456143) because it melted my poor little heart. 
> 
> \- The entire plot was basically just an excuse to have the characters move from Point A to Point B. Sorry.


End file.
